Circumstances Dictate
by Arkashad
Summary: Draco seems to be quite comfortable in his position of power- the boyfriend of the powerful Tom Riddle. Predictably, his little Slytherin heart has one ambition: Power. Along comes Harry: alluring, powerful, and determined to change Draco's mind. DMHP


Author's Note: 

Hey, I'm rather new here. Long-time lurker, first-time poster...That sort of thing.

This first chapter is more of an introduction than anything. Also, this fic is definitely a lot darker than this introduction implies. Dominance, submission, clashes of personalities...All of those little quirks that make me intrigued I've tried to incorporate into this fic.

Enjoy, loves! Don't forget to leave critiques!

His drink tasted just right. Sweet, almost, but not overpoweringly so. He hated sweet.

Draco was stretched out on his stomach so satisfyingly; the posh, black couch was his the moment he touched it. In the background, he could hear the music Tom put up: some warm, trip-hoppy, ambient tune. Tom was always into that weird muggle Sneaker Pimp shit. He said it "enhanced the moment", whatever moment that one might be. Draco found his mugglish taste quite amusing, and never let him live it down. Really, though, what menacing, anti-muggle, pureblood overlord kicks back to the same music his opposition does?

Yes, yes. Draco Malfoy was Tom Riddle's "boyfriend". He rather liked it that way, considering the unfathomable amount of pleasure and power he received out of the relationship. It was hard to compare it to many other relationships, however. It was more like the relationship between coral and its zooxanthellae, or a clownfish and an anenome. The coral provides the shelter; the zooxanthellae, the food. In this case, Tom provided the shelter, and Draco provided the food. Not "food" as in a home cooked meal for two, or a trip to some classy French restaurant. What more sustained Tom was Draco himself. Purely symbiotic. Insert a euphemism for sex here.

Draco drank his drink, a gin and bitter lemon, savoring the refreshing taste. He knew Tom had just entered the room from the little click noise that his shoe made when the flooring changed from carpet to wood.

"We're going out tonight," Tom announced.

Draco stared at his drink. "Work or luxury?"

"Preferably a little bit of both. But we have to keep true to form. Luxury always comes first."

He said they were going to go to one of their regular spots, Erus et Era, which was a very high scale yet rather unknown restaurant. Death Eater owned and operated, of course.

Draco emptied his glass, stretched over to place it on the tabletop, and gracefully arose from the consuming couch. He could spend every waking hour on that couch and never complain, he thought.

He briskly walked past Tom, who was busy marking something down on a piece of parchment that lay on his desk, and retrieved his dark green robes, slipping them smoothly over his tight black jeans and his equally tight black, long-sleeved shirt. Looking briefly over to the mirror, he saw that his hair needed nothing more than a quick swipe of his hand through it, which made his silver strands drape down lightly over his face. "You might want to freshen up, Tom. Your hair looks ridiculous," Draco said in a passing fashion.

Riddle finished what he was writing and turned around to face the mirror. His dark curls were in disarray, sticking up in places that they shouldn't. He stared back at his black eyes, challenging the hair to go back down.

"Oh, just brush it, you slob," Draco said as he went to recover his shoes.

Tom did just that, making his overall looks look as devilish as ever. Draco was always doing that, fixing him up, nagging him about his appearance. It wasn't that Tom was a sloppy, unfashionable man. It was just that Draco was horribly queer.

After their scurried preparations, they stood on the carpet in front of the fireplace.

"Oh please, please. No flooing," Draco pleaded. Flooing always made him nauseous. He never admitted that to many people.

"Fine. You apparate, I floo," Tom stated.

Draco looked put off. "No! We can't arrive separately. They'll think something's up."

"Whatever, Draco. We'll fucking apparate," Tom said, rolling his eyes.

And with that, they apparated to the entrance hall of the glamorous restaurant. Not overly ornate, but enough so that you knew you were among prestige.

They were greeted by a greasy waiter, with slicked back hair, greasy skin, and a greasy smile. He was Snape-esque in his greasiness, but his grease-factor put Snape's to shame. He looked like he bathed in oil, while Snape just didn't shower for two days. Draco didn't even have to pretend to scowl when he saw him.

"Greetings, masters. Right this way," spoke the Grease King, grasping two menus with his unquestionably dirty hands.

Cringing, Draco followed. Tom only smirked in acknowledgement of Draco's discomfort.

Once seated, Draco let out a big sigh.

"Holy Merlin, did you see him?"

"Yes, I did. I was almost tempted to grab a basket of bread and wipe his face for the oil," Tom responded.

Draco blanched.

"That's fucking gross."

Chuckling, Tom signaled for the usual glasses of the house wine.

Draco noticed two extra chairs seated across from them, and questioned why they were there.

"We're having guests, remember? Luxury AND business," said Tom.

Naturally, all the Death Eaters knew of their relationship. Despite his youth, Draco was feared and respected by all. Of course, Daddy wasn't entirely thrilled- After all, some evil overlord 20 years his senior was fucking his precious son. But then again, it all came back to the symbiotic relationship. Draco was safe and taken care of, and that soothed Lucius's mind for a time.

"Who's it going to be?" questioned Draco.

"You'll see" was the only response he received.

Tom never did like telling Draco the unnecessary bits.

After five minutes of silence, two men strode over to their table. Draco didn't know either of them.

Looking them each in the eyes, Tom greeted them, telling them the normal pleasantries one would when greeting a dinner guest. The man sitting directly across was named Ranos, a middle-aged man with stern features. The other was Michael, a brunette in his mid-20's. Draco didn't immediately like them, and he didn't think he'd warm up to them either.

The rest is not worth mentioning, in Draco's opinion. The normal Death Eater agenda. Kill Harry Potter. Kill the Muggles. Keep things Pureblood. Kill Harry Potter.

That's when Ranos, now decidedly not the brightest of the bunch, asked, "Why doesn't Draco kill Potter? He's in Hogwarts, he has the advantage and every opportunity."

Draco finally had excuse to stop his fake smiling. He never did like newcomers. Silent the whole evening, he finally spoke.

"Why haven't I killed Potter? Look what I'm surrounded by! Dumbledore, McGonagall, the fucking brigade!" Draco looked to Tom, knowing that this was a sore subject. " Trust me, I would if I could. The guy's a fucking git. We've hated each other since the moment we set eyes on each other, so of course they're going to have extra surveillance on me."

Satisfied with his own reply, he crossed his arms, looking smug yet alarmed at the same time. Tom, however, was a little more miffed at the suggestion than his partner.

"Ranos, was it?" He began, "If a man like you should question my motives, should doubt my strategies, or anything of the sort, I will not hesitate to express to you how foul this is towards me. To think that I would not have thought of this earlier offends me...greatly."

With an evil glint in his eye, he signaled to a different waiter, one who more resembled a body guard. "I wish for you to leave me and mine to our dinner. Good night."

The two gentlemen looked quite scared, looking up to the huge waiter like a puppy waiting for a beating. They slowly stood up and were escorted away.

Draco didn't think twice about it.

They continued to eat in silence. However, Draco lost his appetite, and excused himself to the bathroom.

He quietly opened the door, his face quite pale, and walked over to the sink. Turning on the faucet, he began to wash his face.

With the droplets dripping down, all he could do was scowl. His heart had been beating so fast.

Why does it always have to be Potter? St. FUCKING Potter!

Tom hated him so much. He was consumed by him day and night.

He recalled the one time in which things became quite explosive over the boy.

The rain was pouring outside, leaving veins of flowing water pulsating down the window. No lights had been turned on throughout the house.

Draco had walked into the living room to find Tom. All he saw was his silhouette against the window, moonlight and shadows of rain surrounding him.

Planning, Draco had thought.

He walked up to him, and went to put his arms around him when his powers suddenly reached out to him.

"That fucking boy," he spat in a harsh whisper. " How the fuck can a boy your age have done this to me?"

Draco knew he was talking about his real form, the form that wasn't his spitting image of youth. Frozen to the spot, he couldn't respond nor move.

"Why can't you just kill him for me?" He asked, a demanding yet inquiring tone. Draco's eyes widened.

"You're in there, you hate him. Just kill him. Forget about those stupid twats of a faculty they have there. Once you're done, you can stay with me. You wouldn't have to worry about a fucking thing!"

"Kill him, Draco. Kill him for me. It's an order."

Draco's insides turned to ice. His worst nightmare had just materialized before him.

He couldn't. He could never kill Potter, let alone another wizard.

"No, Tom."

Voldemort turned to him, smacking him down immediately to the floor.

"YOU QUESTION ME, BOY!"

Anger personified.

"I fear this intimacy has gone to your head. You will do what I tell you, without question, or face the consequences!"

Draco knew that he had a chance at living. Tom was attached to him at least a little bit, no matter how much he'd try to deny it.

"No, my Lord."

He lie there on the floor, sprawled at his Lord's feet, awaiting the punishment. As the Crucio coursed through him, he thought through the pain of the truth of this relationship, this facade. It was a constant power play, with him bowing down in the end.

If he couldn't be powerful by himself, he could be powerful by association.

"Draco. You have many, many things to learn."

Looking back at the mirror, Draco knew that when they returned home, another similar fate awaited him again. Why did he suffer through this for another persons life?

Why did he suffer through this for Potter?

He didn't know. If it weren't for his certainty of Voldemort's victory, he'd have left him a long time ago.

He loved the influence, the prestige, the domination of everyone through his power.

Power was his drug, and Tom Marvolo Riddle was his dealer.

"Erus et Era"- Latin for "Lord and lady". Yes, I take Latin, I don't just take those silly online dictionaries and plug in words. "O miser Passer!"

Author's Note:

Hopefully you all like this first introduction/chapter. It took me one day to write. This idea just struck me today actually, so give me feedback! Love? Hate? Tell me!

In this, I try to make it lighthearted at times, but in reality it's supposed to be very dark, and will proceed to get darker with time. And NO, this is not a light-hearted "I'm with Voldie for Harry" story. Draco's very selfish, believe me. Harry will not be a pushover in the least.

Feedback is appreciated!

Draco's comfortable in his position of power- the boyfriend of the powerful Tom Riddle. His little Slytherin heart's one ambition is power, and lots of it. However, Harry Potter enters the picture, causing quite a disturbance. DM/TR, DM/HP


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